


Mismatch (you and i, we don’t fit quite right but that’s okay)

by QuenchiestCactusJuice99



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Tragedy, Dublith!Greed, Fix-It of Sorts, Greed-centric, Platonic Soulmates, The Author Regrets Nothing, Vague, but like, entirely from Greed’s POV, except that they lost sleep writing this in a mad frenzy at midnight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:09:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23567356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuenchiestCactusJuice99/pseuds/QuenchiestCactusJuice99
Summary: Tattoos don’t show on metal,he thinks viciously, and quells the part of him that whispersneither will the words,because he is all but convinced that the words are a sick joke.He is all but convinced that the words had no meaning in the first place.
Comments: 47
Kudos: 80





	1. long awaited, unexpected, what was this supposed to prove?

**Author's Note:**

> My impulse control up and died (again) so here you go!! Enjoy my good friends

When Greed was first created, he’d watched in muted amazement as words had inked themselves securely in the crook of his left elbow. Even then, it’d been in awe that he had a soulmate at all.

Envy didn’t have one, Lust didn’t have one - no one else had one, not even Father, and as  _ Greed _ that felt  _ good. _

The words say,  _ an ouroboros tattoo. _

A hundred, hundred-fifty years later and he still can’t help running rough, calloused fingers over them. He can never manage to hold a solid opinion on them either.

One decade he feels fond, the next annoyed - is his tattoo really the thing to catch their notice?

He spends thirty years after running away from ‘Father’ with the darkest sort of anger festering in his stomach, that even his soulmate taints their mouth with the proof of his creation.

The fourteen years after that are spent in quiet appreciation that he doesn’t have something so inane as  _ hi _ or  _ yeah _ or  _ nice to meet you. _ The next decade, some mixture of resigned and impatient. So on.

(By the time he hits two hundred, or around there, he’s stuck with the burgeoning doubt that he does have a soulmate. It’s been  _ so long, _ how much more will he have to wait?

He takes to using his hands more expressively, waves them about, gestures wildly. And old habits die hard; whenever forced to, he only coats his hands with his Ultimate Shield, and he says  _ “because it covers my handsome face” _ when asked.

The thing is, the words don’t show through the Shield and the ouroboros does, and if that doesn’t mark him he doesn’t know what does.)

He comes to a realization and it goes like this: his ouroboros is on  _ this _ body. If he had a new one… immortality;  _ real _ immortality, and no connection to ‘Father’ or the others.

_ Tattoos don’t show on metal, _ he thinks viciously, and quells the part of him that whispers  _ neither will the words, _ because he is all but convinced that the words are a sick joke.

He is all but convinced that the words had no meaning in the first place.

He is all but convinced there is no soulmate connected to those words at all when a blond boy walks into his bar and the armor spills his secret and the boy narrows his eyes and says, “An ouroboros tattoo.”

“Observant one, aren’t you,” Slips out of Greed’s mouth before he can even think, an old rehearsed line from half a century ago when he’d had nothing better to do than think up sarcastic responses to someone he knew nothing about.

The boy’s eyes go wide, then darken. 

It doesn’t… change anything, really. Mostly it drags up old resentments Greed thought he was past, brings them all bubbling up beneath his skin, so he fights the pipsqueak and doesn’t hold back.

He pulls his Shield up all the way because he’s- he’s uncomfortable with the words bared on his arm right now, and somehow the boy breaks through his armor, and Greed wonders if that’s supposed to be- symbolic.

He loses to a housewife, retreats because  _ his _ base,  _ his  _ people are being raided, tries to keep Bradley busy because the kid, the armor has Martel.

(Dolcetto and Roa were  _ his, _ and  _ how dare _ Bradley?)

It doesn’t go well for him. It doesn’t go well for Martel, and Greed can do  _ nothing. _ The armor yells-  _ screams  _ like how Greed feels, and goes quiet.

And a shaky voice shouts back,  _ “Al!” _ and Greed’s soulmate in all his bloodied glory is limping towards them and all Greed can think is that- he doesn’t want the kid to die.

But he’s- he’s distracting Bradley, and deliberately not looking at Greed as he plays up some panicked-brother act and takes a wild, desperate swing at the Fuhrer, so-

So Greed gets himself up as quietly as possible and disappears, mind heavy with thoughts of the fact that- Martel was  _ his. _ Dolcetto was  _ his, _ Roa was  _ his, _ they were all- they were all his, and they accepted it, and  **how dare** Bradley?

Greed wonders if the kid’s been court martialed for attacking the bastard.

He sits deep in the dark of an alley with his head in his hands, and doesn’t move for a long, long time.

It’s like running away all over again. He has nothing left. He started with nothing and he’s right back to it and that  _ burns _ and Greed  _ hates it. _

“You look like shit,” Someone says, and Greed lifts his head to look at his soulmate standing in the mouth of the alley, and- and there’s a piece of him that wonders if the kid’s here to kill him for getting the armor - the brother - into this mess.

Fuhrer Fucking Bastard Bradley had done a shit ton of that already, and Greed doesn’t know how much more his philosopher’s stone can take.

Greed mutters, almost to himself, “Of course  _ you _ found me.”

The kid narrows his eyes and says, “I wanna talk to you about something.”

“Then say it,” Greed snaps back, and feels abruptly drained of any emotion at all. The kid wanders closer and sits down across from him.

“I’m getting there, bastard,” The kid says, almost conversationally. And then he starts to talk. About his mother, and brother, and pointedly not about his father. About alchemy books in an empty study, and a teacher from hell - “the lady you met, Izumi, the housewife” - and the deepest sort of longing for something lost, and Greed  _ aches. _

And the kid talks about studying and a child’s allowance and cheap humans, and an attempt gone horribly wrong. “I lost my leg,” He says. “And Al lost his entire body. Then I lost my arm binding his soul to that armor.”

And Greed is exhausted, was exhausted even before the story, so he says blandly, “Was there a point to all this?” Because sympathy isn’t his strong point and won’t ever be.

“I’m  _ getting _ there,” The kid insists. “My soulmark was on my right arm, the one I lost - I’d memorized it, or so I thought; I went over it every day to be sure I still knew. Had a scare with a guy who said something close to it, but it wasn’t the first thing he said to me. And then I meet you, and I- I start trying to figure out if I remember wrong or something. But I check with Al and he tells me I’ve still got it right, so…”

Slowly, the kid says, “Do you have a soulmark?”

And Greed sees no reason to lie. “I do.”

“Can-“ The kid fumbles, like he’s embarrassed, “Can I see it?”

Wordlessly, Greed sticks out his left arm and closes his eyes, head resting back against the grimy alley wall. He doesn’t twitch when cold metal fingers brush over the words, or when the kid breathes, some knot of triumph and confliction, “It  _ is _ you.”

All he does, eyes still closed, is say, “I knew.”

The kid’s fingers still on his arm. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Greed bites, “But I’m two hundred years old at least. What are you, twelve?” He ignores the indignant  _ “fifteen!” _ , and tries to continue.

The kid cuts him off. “And platonic soulmates are a thing, you know.”

“I do know. But here’s the thing, I’ve got nothing to teach you and I’m not interested in taking over your conveniently empty ‘parent’ slots-“

The fist cracking across his jaw isn’t a surprise. But the kid left the buttons wide out in the open and Greed is at his core petty and aggravating. “Don’t - you -  _ dare,” _ The kid seethes, and Greed opens his eyes but stops talking.

“I’m not asking you for shit,” The kid snarls, “Except to see what the bond is supposed to mean. I don’t want a new parent. I don’t need one. But your soul is supposedly perfectly matched to mine and I want to know why.”

Without his input, Greed’s mouth goes, “You and every other alchemist out there.”

He almost expects to get hit again, but the kid just huffs. “‘Xactly,” He agrees. “It’s the biggest mystery. Even human transmutation has theories, but no one can figure out the first thing about soulmarks. And you’re a  _ homunculus.”  _

“Don’t remind me,” Greed says automatically, as if he could ever forget. “I’m the only one with a soulmark. Or, I was when I left. But it’s been a while.”

The kid takes that in. After a bit of silence, he murmurs thoughtfully, “They’re still looking for you.”

Greed scoffs. “Obviously. I defected, which means I’ve got some serious secrets to spill.”

He gets a surprised look. “I meant the military,” The kid says.

Greed shrugs. “No difference, really.”

He doesn’t expect the kid’s shock. “What do you mean?”

“Your Fuhrer bastard is one of us,” Greed says, raising his eyebrows. “I only just found out, but it was pretty clear.”

The kid gets an unsettlingly concentrated look on his face. “Tell me everything,” He demands, and Greed…

Greed does.

—

A lot happens. Greed doesn’t pay attention, because he doesn’t care at this point. But he ends up way out east in some nowhere called Resembool, in front of a shop called  _ Rockbell Automail, _ mouth inexplicably dry as he’s evaluated by the old lady barely past his hip.

“Granny,” The kid - Ed, he’d introduced himself as - greets. “I’ve brought a friend. He’s got some issues to sort out, and he’s staying away from the military.”

“Not like you to invite friends over,” The old lady says evenly. “Not like you to make friends at all, brat.”

All Ed says back is, “Granny. Please?”

Greed carefully doesn’t fidget, because he’s two-fucking-hundred years old and not  _ five. _

“Whatever, you little twerp,” The old lady grumbles, lighting her pipe. “Come inside; you oughta show your friend around if he’s staying awhile.”


	2. A beginning, an end, and a new friend - not necessarily in that order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greed is subjected to Resembool. Hohenheim shows. No one is happy. But there is a win. (And a loss.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a bird! It’s a plane!! It’s... a completed work?! 
> 
> All jokes aside, it’s finally here: the final chapter. Enjoy!

The old lady - “call me Pinako” - is… sharp. She doesn’t talk much, so Greed doesn’t either, and he’s good with that. Kind of. It’s been, what, a week since Bastard Bradley hit the Devil’s Nest?

Greed’s in no talkative mood, not like usual. Pinako seems used to the silence, anyway. 

Abruptly, the morning marking the ninth day since Greed’s arrival, Pinako says, “We’re going out.”

Greed blinks hard, to be sure he heard right. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. You’ve been holed up in here all week without putting so much as a toe outside. You don’t even talk to the customers.”

Pinako’s arms are crossed and on such a small scale, it shouldn’t feel threatening, but it does. 

“Do you…” Greed hesitates. “Do you  _ want _ me to?”

She snorts. “Talk to the customers? No, you’d scare ‘em off before the sixth word. But if you were talking to them, I’d at least know you felt at home.”

“... home,” Greed echoes strangely. Pinako sighs.

“One of  _ those, _ are you?” She mutters to herself. “Dammit, Ed.” Then, louder, as she eyes him, “So we’re heading into town. Get you some sunlight and whatnot.”

There are two million ways Greed could respond to that and more than half involve violence, but there are a few things that keep his response to a numb, “... fine?”

Ed brought him here to keep him out of trouble, and Greed’s not about to murder his - what? - grandmother? - for being a good host. 

It’s not like he even particularly dislikes Pinako. But he’s not in the most stellar of situations here, and he doesn’t see how sunlight is going to help.

There’s a steel to her voice, though, that reminds him of Martel, back when he’d first rescued her and Dolcetto and all the others, back when she’d finally found her place in the group.

It reminds him of the first time she talked back to him without fear of retaliation, the first tangible proof she had that he wouldn’t be like the researchers in the chimera labs, and oh, what a verbal lashing it was, that first time he’d let himself be killed in front of her.

There’s a steel to Pinako’s voice that makes him swallow hard and agree quickly to ease the pain lingering in his chest.

The strip of cloth she throws at him is harder to make sense of until she tells him, “You’ve found your soulmate, no doubt, with how comfortably you parade your mark. Don’t know how they do it down south but out here, nobody much likes to show ‘em off. Private, y’see.”

He… doesn’t. She eyes him again. “Nobody’s out in public without theirs covered. In Resembool, anyway. Tie it up.”

Greed eyes the cloth dubiously. He’s never heard of that before, but… well, he’s been based in Dublith a long time. 

And soulmark traditions shift and change like desert dunes in a sandstorm; he remembers a particularly wild decade when it was considered shockingly rude to hide a soulmark if you had one. Which made for some interesting clothing situations for those with soulmarks in… inconvenient places.

“S’polite,” Pinako says, jarring him out of his thoughts, and he realizes he’s just been staring.

He grunts and goes about trying to tie the cloth around his arm one-handed until Pinako sighs and does it for him. He notes with some interest that her eyes remain fixed on the far wall as she does so.

_ Private, y’see, _ and hey.  _ Hey, _ he thinks with amusement,  _ Ed had seemed so embarrassed when he asked to see my mark. _

“Holy shit,” Greed says, with rising glee, “You’re tellin’ me Ed totally ignored a lifetime’s decorum ‘cause he was curious? That baby gremlin child was  _ raised _ to be respectful to soulmarks and still had the guts to ask to see mine?”

He laughs until he’s out of breath, and manages, gasping, “Kid’s growin’ on me like a  _ fungus _ by the second.”

A foreboding feel has him glancing over at Pinako and- yep, she looks like a vengeful demon ready to hunt something (someone) down. “Ed. Did.  _ What,” _ She growls, and Greed discretely shifts away.

Then realizes it was a legitimate question. “Er,” He says warily. “He asked to- see my soulmark?”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Pinako promises darkly, “He was raised better than that!”

Yikes.

Sweating like crazy despite the relatively cool morning air, Greed suggests, “Weren’t you going to take me into town or whatever?”

The look on Pinako’s face says she’s not fooled. “Yeah,” She grumps. “Get your damn shoes on, Dublith boy; you’re gonna see how country life looks up close instead of from your southern towns.”

—

Greed has decided to retire from life. He’s obviously failed at it, seeing as he made it three feet into the admittedly minimal bulk of Resembool, lost his guide to the crowd, found his way to what he believes to be the  _ opposite _ side of the village from the market Pinako was going to show him, and somehow managed to pick up a small child along the way.

“Who even are you,” He demands flatly, not securing but not removing the child clinging determinedly to his back.

“Aiyna,” The girl chirps, and then informs him with no small amount of cheer, “Did you know you’re going in circles?”

Greed grits his teeth. “It came to my attention.”

“Oh, good,” The girl giggles. “‘Cause you’re definitely not from around here and you look kinda lost.”

_ Where the hell are your parents, _ he tries to project into his posture as he stalks forward. “Alright, that’s enough,” He decides, and dumps the girl on the ground, hands on his hips. “What the h- what are you doing?”

The girl pouts. “Helping you, mister! You might’ve gone ‘round an ‘round in circles for the rest of ever if I hadn’t said anything!”

Greed stares, disregarding the last half of that. “Helping,” He repeats incredulously.

“Helping,” The girl says decisively.

This is ridiculous. How did he even get into this? He could’ve sworn he was right behind Pinako, he’d looked away for a  _ second _ to take in the buildings and the people,  _ and yet. _

Ah, to hell with it. This is Pinako’s village; she can find him whenever she wants.

Greed sits, crossing his legs. “Alright then - Aiyna, was it?” She nods curiously, dropping to a sit as well. “If you’re so keen to be helpful, where are we?”

Aiyna tilts her head, humming. “The back streets. None of ‘em line up, so visitors get lost real often.”

Well,  _ that _ would explain some things. “Hey, mister,” Aiyna continues, hopping up and leaning into Greed’s space, “Did you know your eyes are real pretty?”

Greed chokes.

Dolcetto had said almost very nearly the same thing once, he remembers, when they were all laughing and the idiot had just gone,  _ hey, boss, your eyes are a fancy shade of pink, _ and Greed had only thought to retaliate with  _ purple, it’s purple, and it’s a statement. _

“Some...” He says, “Some- friends once pointed it out to me, yes.”

Aiyna nods. “You’ve got good friends,” She declares, and Greed bites the inside of his cheek.

“... yeah.”

Aiyna frowns, cheeks sticking out adorably. “Did I make you sad?” 

Greed bites harder. He grins at her. “Nah,” He says easily. “I’m fine.”

She considers him with narrow, doubtful eyes. “You sound like my brother,” She scowls, “Before he came back from the head hospital in Central.”

“... head hospital.”

Her chin juts out stubbornly. “He says he got real sad and tired, so he went to a hospital for his head. There’s a big one in Central and he was there for  _ forever  _ before he got to come back home.”

Greed blinks. “Um. Yeah, that’s… different. I’m not- depressed?”

—

The suspicion of a child is impossible to alleviate.

—

“Had fun, did you,” Pinako says dryly.

Greed glares at her, dripping wet, and doesn’t deign to respond. Aiyna snickers in his ear, perched fearlessly on his shoulders and gripping his hair.

“We did!” She announces, and pats Greed’s soaked head. “Bye bye, mister, come visit again soon!”

“And get into another water fight with you  _ lunatics?”  _ He grumbles. “I don’t think so.” But he keeps a hand ready to catch her if she slips climbing down from his back.

Pinako sends him a knowing look that he ignores with his remaining dignity.

—

It’s possibly the last thing Greed expects to find Aiyna’s older brother Vic at the doorstep the next day.

He can’t think of any reason Vic would be here unless Greed forgot something at his house from the water fight, but that wasn’t it because Greed hadn’t brought anything with him to the village.

So he waits. Vic seems, however, temporarily speechless. And very, very red. Greed can’t figure out why until Pinako hollers from the kitchen, “Cover your damn mark when you answer the door, Dublith!”

And Greed remembers oh yeah, Resembool has mad respect for soulmarks, and probably answering the door with it in the open is some sort of faux pas.

“My bad,” He concedes, and leaves the door open so Vic can come in while he finds where he put the cloth Pinako gave him. Pinako’s busy with breakfast, so he makes do tying it with one hand and his teeth.

Vic is standing awkwardly in the entryway when Greed comes back. He’s still kind of pink and steadfastly avoids Greed’s eyes.

“So…” Greed prompts. “Need something?”

Vic clears his throat. “Um. I just. Wanted to thank you? For playing with Aiyna and me. She doesn’t… have any friends, so I was- happy? I was grateful you let her bother you for a while.”

Greed’s eyebrows rise. “She wasn’t a bother. I just don’t know what to do with kids.”

“Really?” Vic gives him a onceover and then goes completely red when his eyes hit Greed’s elbow again. “I mean, you seem- really good with kids. That is- not to say- I mean- um-“

Pinako takes mercy on him. “You’ve got a mean poker face, Dublith. Ain’t nobody gonna see you’re uncomfortable if you don’t actually want ‘em to.”

Greed shrugs. He supposes spending years with people who  _ knew _ him has skewed his judgement on these things. Or maybe that’s the two hundred years he’s had to learn tells and facial expressions.

Kind of a toss up, really.

Vic coughs. “Erm. Anyway. I just wanted to say thanks.”

Greed studies him. “Don’t thank me,” He says nonchalantly. “I was just passing time until Pinako came to get me.”

Vic gives him a tired smirk, like he’s already used to Greed’s brand of bullshit, and that’s  _ patently _ unfair. “Yeah, okay. See you soon?”

Pinako takes the liberty of agreeing for him. Greed rolls his eyes, but as Vic starts towards the door, he calls, “Aiyna’s a good kid.”

He gets a self-deprecating grin. “I’m trying to raise her to be,” Vic says back, and then he’s gone.

—

The time Greed has spent around virtually harmless people - Aiyna, Vic, the other Resembool kids - has softened his reactions somewhat. Vic says he’s less tense, less on edge.

So the hand on his bicep isn’t met with anything more than him turning with a distracted, “Whatcha need?”

His muscles lock up in place when he sees who it is.

_ There’s no way there’s no fucking way he never leaves Central there’s  _ **_no fucking way-_ **

It isn’t Father. It isn’t. The hair isn’t bleached of color but that makes this- that makes this the  _ other one. _

“Hohenheim,” Pinako says from behind Greed, and she sounds strange.

Greed isn’t so far as hyperventilating, but he’s pretty sure he’s shaking.  _ “Stay away from me,” _ He hisses, and yanks his arm away so he can take off toward the house.

The man,  _ Hohenheim, _ in the flesh, says coldly, “Pinako, do you know what that is?”

Greed freezes. He can’t breathe, feet cemented to the ground - too heavy to even  _ think _ of moving.

“Does she know what  _ you _ are?” He spits with terrified vitriol anyway, because that’s how he  _ works, _ he deals in harsh words and barbed insults under skin, even when he’s panicking.

Heavy footsteps behind him still can’t make him move, but Hohenheim’s hand clamping down on his shoulder sends a shock through his muscles that has him elbowing Hohenheim in the stomach with all the force he can manage.

Greed  _ is _ actually hyperventilating now. “Don’t fucking  _ touch me,” _ He snarls, skin crawling, and feels his neck snap in the instant a fist cracks across his jaw.

(How familiar, he thinks morbidly-)

“Hohenheim!” Pinako shouts. 

At the same time, a painfully familiar voice yells,  _ “YOU BITCH!” _

Somehow Greed has ended up on the ground, neck cracking unpleasantly as it repairs, but Hohenheim is… occupied.

With a handful of spite-fueled child. Ed is repeatedly whacking Hohenheim with a satchel, teeth bared in something very different from a grin.  _ “Don’t - you - fucking - touch - him,” _ Ed enunciates, voice so strained you’d think he was holding back a scream.

Greed sits up with a hand at his throat and uncertainty in his bones.

“Edward,” Hohenheim says, glasses askew but not bothering to fix them. “Do you have any idea what you’re defend-?”

Ed - his soulmate,  _ his _ soulmate, he’s back - punches Hohenheim hard enough to send him sprawling to the ground. “I know exactly  _ who _ I’m defending, you bastard!”

When Hohenheim makes no move to get up - too busy studying Ed - Greed swallows and stands. “I’ll…” He rasps, and quickly clears his throat. “I’ll be inside.”

He takes off, ignoring Ed’s - his  _ soulmate’s, _ damn, he wasn’t prepared for this - call and carefully not slamming the door behind him. He moves through the house with shaking knees, making it to his borrowed room and closing the door before sinking into the panic attack that’s clawing at the edges of his mind.

—

Greed doesn’t come out for the rest of the day. He can hear Hohenheim’s baritone through the walls and it shakes him to have the voice of  _ Father _ so near after all this time.

Ed comes to find him before dinner, takes one look at him, and closes his mouth instead of saying a word. Greed lets him into the room without resistance, too tired to even try at this point. His muscles are suffering random tremors; it’s not worth it.

(Coincidentally, the tremors are timed with every rise of the voices in the kitchen. Murderous intent, Greed assures himself, because his first mistress has always been denial.)

Arms wrap around him from behind and he stiffens.

“What- what are you doing?” He croaks. The pressure is too light to be for a takedown or suffocation.

“Giving you a hug, dumbass.” Ed sounds odd. Greed can’t see his face and isn’t sure what to make of the tone.

Noise in the kitchen increases for a moment and Greed’s muscle quake makes another appearance.

Ed says nothing. Ed continues to say nothing even as enough time passes that footsteps sound in the hallway outside the door and Pinako tells them to come for dinner already.

Ed says nothing even as he retracts his arms and moves toward the door. Greed’s skin feels… cold in the absence of the contact.

He still doesn’t follow Ed out the door. He sits on the bed and tries not to listen to the stilted flow of conversation.

Tries not to until Ed’s voice rises into clarity with a sharp, “Don’t fucking call him that!”

Hohenheim’s reply is too low to make out.

Greed just clamps his hands over his ears and focuses on not hearing anything. 

—

Ed storms in at some point later. Greed has sprawled out on top of the covers, in possibly one of the darkest moods he’s had since leaving Father’s sphere of control.

Last time it took him nearly thirty years to snap out of. He’s not looking forward to trying now. He’s started to rebuild himself in Resembool, despite his own doubts, and the problem there is that when he rebuilds himself, he builds walls.

He doesn’t want to tear them down. He doesn’t want to leave this again, doesn’t want to ruin it because Father’s fucking duplicate showed his goddamn face where Greed has accidentally begun putting down roots.

_ (Last time you didn’t have your soulmate, _ something deep in his mind whispers. Something he could have sworn he buried with prejudice, back when it’d been going on one hundred and seventy years and he’d still not found the person supposedly connected to him.

Hope. Greed takes it and buries it halfheartedly once more, not because he resents the idea that maybe it won’t make a difference - he does it because Ed looks like he’s in just as bad a place, and it’s not fair for Greed to expect help from him when he’s dealing with his own problems.)

Ed storms in and they don’t say anything to each other still, but Greed adjusts his sprawl to something that takes less space to give Ed room to sprawl next to him.

Greed’s soulmate. That’s still new - he’s been avoiding it, hasn’t he? Hadn’t thought about it since Ed dropped him here, but now…  _ his _ soulmate. Yeah.

Eventually, the silence gets too much. Greed has been silent for the whole day and it’s not… comfortable, it really isn’t, silence hasn’t ever been comfortable for him-

_ (not since the time Pride got fed up with his ‘endless chatter’ and drowned him in his own blood and  _ **_Father didn’t stop him,_ ** _ oh yes, hadn’t that been it, the moment he thought  _ I can’t live like this  _ and  _ **_meant it)_ **

-so he opens his stupid fucking mouth and mutters, “Should’ve realized the second I saw you who you were related to.”

Greed isn’t looking at him, but he can hear it when Ed shifts. “The fuck is that supposed mean,” He says, tired and bitter.

“Nothing,” Greed tries to backtrack, “You-“

“I what?” Ed returns sharply.

Greed sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “Legitimately nothing. I’m just- he looks- he’s- goddamn it. You  _ look _ Xerxian. There’s no hiding it. I don’t know why I didn’t connect the dots sooner, is all.”

For a tense moment, Greed thinks Ed might blow up anyway. Ed only sighs, though. “Weren’t expecting a face full of the worst father to grace this earth?”

The snort that invokes is arguably more painful than getting punched by Hohenheim. “You have no idea,” Greed says. “He’s identical to mine.” Then, as an afterthought, in case Ed doesn’t know - “Literally.”

“Scoot over a little more,” Ed says instead of any exclamation of shock, so he probably had it figured out. “I want to sleep for three days.”

“Oh, same,” Greed says, and obliges.

—

Waking up feels like a new day for the first time since Greed lost his… friends.

His dark mood has- dissapated.  _ Just like that? _

He looks over his shoulder, propping himself up on an elbow, and is treated to the sight of Ed half off the bed, tangled in blankets, dead to the world and hair a knotted mess.

He smiles.  _ Just like that, then.  _ He’s not exactly complaining.

_ His _ soulmate. Absently, he wonders what he could teach Ed. That’s how these things worked, right? Mentor-student, friend, familial, etc when not romantic.

He gets up, stretches, and realizes he fell asleep fully clothed. He doesn’t really want to take a shower…

After a moment of deliberation, he pulls on new clothes and wanders into the kitchen. Pinako isn’t there, so Greed just takes a seat and puts his head down on the table with a sigh.

In lieu of anything else to do, he starts humming. He doesn’t think he knows the words to it, if there even are any. The tune is half-remembered but distantly cherished, like he learned it in a dream. It holds stubbornly in his memory for some reason.

He’d taught it to Roa, at one point. Had simply sat down with him and gone over all of it he could remember. He thinks maybe he just wanted someone else to know it. It felt more real that way, and less like a stolen moment from someone else’s life.

Hohenheim’s voice is jarring. “Didn’t think your father sang.”

Greed jumps. Breathes in, and keeps himself seated. 

“He doesn’t. Or, he didn’t a century ago. I wouldn’t know about now. Doesn’t really sound his style, though, does it?”

”No,” Hohenheim says unreadably. ”… you don’t know what song that is, do you?”

Greed frowns, wary. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has to do with how your father split you. Which one are you?”

“Don’t answer that,” Ed interrupts from behind Greed, sounding barely short of murderous.

Greed twists in his chair slightly to peer over his shoulder. Ed hasn’t bothered to fix his hair, but he’s thrown on fresh clothes. His expression is crafted in cold fury.

“Where do you get off, shit talking about needing to  _ put him down _ and then turning around just to pry information out of him first?” Ed demands.

Hohenheim’s face doesn’t so much as twitch. “Edward,” He says, “I’m aware of your feelings on the matter. But-“

“You,” Ed growls, “Aren’t even  _ close _ to aware of my feelings.”

That sparks something warm and heavy and possessive in Greed’s chest, something he’s familiar with. He’s  _ Greed. _

It also makes Hohenheim sit back and study the both of them. Greed doesn’t fidget, because Pinako has a meaner stare once he gets past the instincts blaring about ‘Father’.

And Hohenheim, for all his resemblance, is  _ not  _ Father. So Greed says, “Concerned, are we? Over little old me? How flattering.”

Hohenheim just stares. And then says, “Wrath, Envy or Greed. And I doubt you’re Envy.”

Edward bares his teeth. “Oh yeah? Why so sure, bastard?”

“Because,” Hohenheim says, “That song he was singing is mine. From back when his father was still entrapped in his flask. I doubt I am that fond of a memory for him, which means that this is his Wrath, holding onto an infuriating, childish lullaby from ten lifetimes ago, or his Greed, holding onto any scrap of knowledge he can get, instincts demanding so as if back when all he wanted was knowledge.”

Ed doesn’t have anything to reply to that, clearly, because if he did he’d be hollering it at the top of his lungs. Greed makes use of the poker face Pinako seems to think he has, because Hohenheim has approximately eight hundred years more practice.

“We’re done here,” Ed decides, except with more command than decision.

Hohenheim doesn’t object. Greed stands slowly.

He doesn’t actually care if Hohenheim knows who he is. Ed seems to, but Greed doesn’t really see why it matters. After all, to Hohenheim,  _ which _ of homunculi he is doesn’t matter so much as the fact that he  _ is _ one.

Or so Greed had assumed. Though Hohenheim  _ had _ asked, and Ed had responded how he always seemed to respond to Hohenheim wanting something - doing the exact opposite.

Greed can empathize. Strongly.

—

Hohenheim leaves unceremoniously. Neither Greed nor Ed complain, though Ed gnashes his teeth and kicks a few walls.

Ed takes the time to sit down and explain the plan though, which is nice. “They’re not ready,” Ed says, eyes glinting with vicious satisfaction. “They don’t have enough human sacrifices, and if we hit them before they can find enough candidates, we can do this.”

It’s a little more in-depth than that, because Ed has… a  _ lot _ of people on his side. More than Greed had assumed they’d have. Ed had somehow briefed an alarming amount of allies on the down low, which is what he’d been doing ever since leaving Greed in Pinako’s tender care.

“This is… wow,” Greed says, because never in all this time had he managed to seriously entertain the thought of someone defeating Father for good.

Ed grins - shark tooth sharp and mean as an eel - and Greed allows that hope he’d buried a single breath of air.

It blooms in his chest like he’s been feeding it for its entire life. And for once… Greed doesn’t mind. He doesn’t move to squash it back down, dig it a new grave, or even contain it a little.

_ His _ soulmate. The one he’s been waiting for since he sprang into existence, his  _ soulmate _ is going to be the one to bring down his Father.

This could happen. It has a real chance. That’s something Greed will fight for until his philosopher’s stone bleeds itself dry on a madman’s blade.

(There’s never been any doubt how he will die. Father has always been a looming threat, and Greed had long since resigned himself to his fate. 

But now. There might be a way out.)

_ (God, let there be a way out.) _

—

Greed, stupidly, freezes when he sees Father erupt from the ground, raging like a stabbed bull. Fear, deep and ingrained and  _ old, _ jolts through his entire body.

He  _ hates it. _ He hates that he freezes, that he’s still so  _ scared _ of this man - this  _ monster  _ \- that Father is  _ still affecting him, an entire century later. _

He hates that Ed gets hurt saving him, he hates that Hohenheim redeems his stupid ass self, he hates that the brother - Al, he knows, he knows the name, how could he  _ not _ when Ed had screamed it like it was his own soul being ripped away - is, is, is-

_ Fuck. _

Greed  _ hates _ and he can barely stand the beneath the weight of it.

He can still help. He can still help. He can still  _ fight. _

(He throws himself at Father and descends into a madness he’s only felt pieces of, and wonders, wonders, wonders if this is it, if the next hit is all his philosopher’s stone can take.)

Al is fine. Al is fine and Ed is  _ fine _ and Hohenheim, unfortunately, is fine, and Greed doesn’t care about the others because they aren’t  _ his. _ Al matters because Ed cares more about Al than his own wellbeing, and Greed wouldn’t give a damn if Hohenheim were dying, but it’s habit to keep track of the most dangerous people around him.

Father…

Dead.

_ Oh, _ Greed thinks.  _ Oh. Is this… is this what it’s like to be free? _

His hands are numb. No, wait. His arms are getting that way too. Greed… is not fine.

“Greed?” Ed says, horror creeping into his voice.

_ Oh, _ he thinks, and watches his hands start to flicker out of existence, no tell-tale crackling of an attempt to heal whatever’s wrong.

“Ah,” Greed says, and his voice catches in a way he didn’t mean it to. “My source material is… gone.”

_ “So?” _ Ed demands, panic bleeding in like cheap ink. “You don’t need him to live! It doesn’t work like that!”

Greed swallows. “No. No, not- Father. My…” 

“Philosopher’s stone,” Hohenheim finishes grimly. He actually looks a little concerned, though it’s focused on Ed more than Greed. The pinch of his brow is deeper than usual.

“Fuck,” Greed says softly.

_ “Fuck,” _ Ed swears with feeling, and Greed watches with panic as tears well up in gold eyes.

“Hey! Hey, wait, this is fine, it’s okay, I’m like-  _ super _ fucking old, I was kind of expecting this-“ Greed babbles.

_ “It’s not okay! _ Don’t  _ talk  _ like that, we can fix this-“

“We really can’t,” Greed says, pained.

_ “We’ll get you a new philosopher’s stone!” _

“We  _ can’t! _ Look-“

“Shut up!”

“Fullmetal,” Someone interrupts quietly.

_ “Colonel,” _ Ed growls. “Stay out of this.”

Greed swallows. “Look, kid. Ed. Edward.” His chest starts to phase out and he chokes a little. “Fuck,” He gasps. “You can’t- I’ve- my philosopher’s stone has been fucked since the day we met. You gotta just-“

Damn. Damn damn  _ damn. _

Greed had wanted  _ anything _ other than dying like this. Father gets the last laugh in the end, huh? 

Fuck. Greed…  _ really _ hadn’t wanted this to be it. There had always been the chance that he’d get wiped and remade, but this is it for real. For good.

Horrifyingly enough, Gred feels his own eyes start to dampen. He is  _ not _ going to cry in front of  _ Hohenheim. _

Ed collides with him and Greed falls, stability residing at a solid one percent and failing him. The hug isn’t so foreign this time, enough that Greed can hesitantly return it.

His hands start to fizzle dangerously and Greed throws his reservations out the window, arms tightening around Ed and torso bending so he can envelope the kid best as possible.

He buries his face in golden Xerxian hair and thinks  _ fuck Hohenheim. _

Ed’s arms tremble. Greed wishes he could say something through the lump in his throat, like maybe  _ sorry for crying on your stupid hair _ because he’s seen how much effort Ed puts into keeping it clean. 

Greed doesn’t care about the wetness slowly growing on his shirt, wouldn’t even if he weren’t about to  _ die _ in front of his  _ fifteen-year-old soulmate. _ He wants to apologize for so much more.

Ed whispers,  _ “I’m sorry,” _ and Greed can’t even ask  _ for what. _ “I never- never stopped to ask you anything or talk to you for real, and now you’re  _ dying _ and I don’t even know you- you’re my  _ soulmate _ and I thought I’d have so much time after this was over - I kept putting it off and- and-“

“Shut up,” Greed hisses. “I don’t care.”

“I do!” Ed shouts, and his voice breaks.

Greed’s eyes screw shut, tears coming faster. “I know. But I don’t. It’s okay.”

“It’s  _ not.” _

“You’re  _ mine. _ What matters is you’re safe. That’s enough for me.”

“It’s  _ not _ enough for  _ me!” _

“It’s gotta be,” Greed chokes out. “Hey, I’m  _ sorry, _ okay? I am. I’m sorry for this. Tell- tell Aiyna she’s a good kid. Tell Pinako my name, and that she’s- she’s-“ His face does something complicated. “She was like having a mom, for the first time,” He manages reluctantly. Ed sobs into his chest. “Tell Vic he’s a good older brother. And- and-“

His throat spasms. “Remember,” He says, and if he could  _ scream _ it he would. “Remember- me. Remember not- to blame yourself. This isn’t your fault, i-idiot. I’m- I’m okay with this.”

“But you’re  _ not,”  _ Ed cries, and Greed’s chest  _ hurts. _

“Maybe- not. But I knew-“ His throat spasms again, and Greed knows he won’t be able to manage anything else.

_ “Greed!” _ Ed screams, and Greed wants to say  _ I’m not gone yet. I’m not done yet. Wait. I’m not done yet. _

But he knows he is. 

_ Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. _ He wants to scream it to the world until the word loses meaning. 

The last thing he remembers is Ed’s scream echoing into rapidly decaying ears, and wanting so much more than the end he knew he’d been destined for since defecting.

It’s the end he deserves, but not the one Ed deserved to see, and for that… 

He’s so very, very sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sib says if enough of you get mad in the comments i should write an alternate ending lmao

**Author's Note:**

> The only reason this is up is because my oldest sib told me to slap it on the archive. If you’re okay leaving comments, let me know what you think!! Your guys’ input gives me inexplicable giddiness


End file.
